I wonder if you remember, W, erstwhile would-be Dominant? He of the slightly lacking personal hygiene and cluelessness in bed? I have to confess that I didn't handle that situation with him too well - as I'm such a Grown Up Lady (not really) I naturally thought the best and most straightforward course of action would be simply to avoid his calls and texts until he got the message. This only took two weeks. And then he sent me an email asking me what was up and that he assumed I no longer wanted to see him. I agreed that I didn't, of course, and although I didn't go into the whys (you are crap in bed + you smell + you don't listen) I was quite firm and unambiguous about the fact that I was no longer interested in something with him. But we could be friends, right?
But you know what. All of this is completely different to how W perceives things. A series of passive aggressive messages lately suggest that not only does he think I am still perfectly fine to flirt with and angry and personal when I don't reciprocate but that also, our split was a completely mutual thing. Messages that made me cross enough that I wanted to link to my blog with a short note describing how I was finished with him before he had rolled off me. But what would have been the point? To prove to him that he was wrong about that? I just would have ended up hurting and embarrassing him and I don't really think that I need to do that, not least for an empty and petty victory of that nature. At his best, W can be kind, thoughtful and make me choke with laughter. A bit of me wants to think we could be friends and maybe we could. But even if we can't, I am pleased with myself that where I once might have reacted really badly to someone talking (ok, writing) to me in such a way, I'm managing to let it go. At least at the moment anyway. Maybe I'll be a Grown Up Lady one day.
Friday, 24 August 2012
Tuesday, 21 August 2012
Addict
However, I do feel like being with him has taken some getting used to. I did meet him on a vanilla site, and he never had this claim to being a Dominant but why should he label himself, after all. Why should any of us? He is dominant in bed - I don't have a sense of being in control at all, physically or otherwise, but I think it is different, to the partners I have had in the past. What is different for me is that he gets his pleasure from my pleasure; So while he clearly enjoys spanking me, I am spanked because I love to be spanked, he pins me down because it turns me on to have my limbs restrained, and whereas in the past I might have spent time giving my partner loving and enthusiastic oral sex, it seems like my task is to lay there with my hips pinned to the bed until his tongue on my pussy, oversensitised already from two or three orgasms in quick succession, elicits yet another climax. Which I'm sure you would agree, is hardly a terrible predicament to be in.
I think finally, the difference is in the freedom. If I want an orgasm, I will have one without asking- usually. If I want to change position in order to better enjoy what we are doing, I mostly can.If something is too much, I don't feel the need to get through it because we have this dynamic that means I should push myself for his pleasure, we just stop it. It occurs to me that some readers might consider the preceding statements to be a bit... strange. In most dynamics what I have described here is probably the norm. But I suppose when you practise (I'm not sure this is the word I am looking for) BDSM, other things become normal. This is neither good nor bad necessarily, just different. Anyway, the point is I think we both know that ultimately, he is in charge of what happens in bed - which is necessary, but right now seems like my job is lying back and having a great time. So I'm trying to become really proficient at that for his benefit. Tough life. All of this for a woman who, a few short months ago couldn't really remember what sexual pleasure felt like. My biggest problem now? Getting out of his bed.
Monday, 20 August 2012
Profile of the week...
not to sure where to start.Been into the sub side for long
time ,now stepping it up a gear.If u are serious in your life to become part
and partiall of being owned by a Master,u will be required to pay tribute as an
attention getter for my time.....
Ah man, I had a whole snarky post for this one, including an educational piece on the etymology of the phrase 'part and parcel' and the lack of logic involved in suggesting one steps submission up a gear by becoming a Dominant. But it's not worth it. I just come over as anal as.. well, as anal as I am about stuff like that and that's no fun, is it?
The reason that I picked this profile is more representative of a couple of profiles I have seen recently. There is a bit of financial domination that goes on in femdom/male sub BDSM (not as much as the Dominants would hope, I suspect) but asking women to pay tributes is
(no, you don't)
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
On The Train
It felt like the hottest day of the summer and there was no shade to be found on the station platform. I could feel little rivulets of sweat running down my back and the valley between my breasts, so maybe the black wool dress had been a mistake that day. I looked at Paul, my boss, who was looking as hot and miserable as I felt and he smiled back. We had been out for the day in a particularly dismal series of meetings and neither of us were in the mood for waiting for this train.
"Maybe we should go for a drink instead", I suggested with a grin,
He looked at his watch, and shook his head "It'll be here in a minute. Maybe we'll get some relief on the train"
The situation on the train itself was no better - people were spilling out of the carriage - there were no seats left. He pulled me into the corner of the standing area near to where a window had been pulled down a couple of inches and I ended up standing with my face against the wall, holding onto the overhead handle with one arm. We were crowded in from every other angle, with far too many people standing and no room to move. The train pulled slowly out of the station and I realised, with a feeling like lead weight in my stomach, there was no air-conditioning. There was no air-conditioning and our stop was 30 minutes away. I leaned with my cheek against the wall and tried to focus on the thin flow of air that was coming in through the window.
I could feel Paul standing behind me as he also held on overhead, his body resting lightly against mine. The smell of his aftershave was impossible to avoid as his face could only have been inches away from mine and I breathed it in, I loved the way he smelt today. As the train rocked and swayed along the rails I became more conscious of his body moving against mine. I smiled to myself; things had to be bad if I was thinking that way about my pain in the ass boss. My objectively attractive but absolute pain in the ass of a boss.
The train suddenly jolted and about 30 bodies fell back against me,forcing me even tighter into the corner of the train. I could feel the contours of his body pressed hard against me now and his other hand went out to steady himself but as the train righted itself he did not move back; his hand remained against the wall and his body remained right against me. He had to be kidding, didn't he?
His weight shifted again as he took his hand down from the overhead bar, and I stiffened as he placed it on my hip. A move that would have felt totally natural and intimate had it been my boyfriend squeezed against my body like that, but felt alien and provocative under these circumstances. But, since I'm being honest, it didn't feel entirely unwelcome so I remained against the wall with my eyes shut, thinking maybe it would stop there, but how silly of me to think that would be the end of it. After a few minutes he moved his hand again, and he began to gently trace the outline of my bottom with his finger - a stroke so soft it was almost imperceptible but felt like it was burning a trail on my skin. My mind was racing at the implications of this. I knew it was wrong, I knew I had no real interest in this man, I knew that letting your boss touch you on public transport was a Bad Thing. I also knew that there was a real chance I was going to get to like it.
When his hand reached down to the hem of my dress, I took a sharp intake of breath. Maybe this was going too far. He paused, for maybe 10 seconds before he pushed his hand up behind the back of my skirt and I felt his hand land on the inside of my bare thigh.
"Open your legs" he bent his head and whispered in my ear but I was paralysed with indecision now, unable to move at all. I opened my eye and looked up at him and he was staring down at me like he had caught me doing something unprofessional in the workplace,
"Open your legs" he repeated, his whisper turning into a hiss. He pinched my thigh quite hard and turned his hips against my bottom and pressed his erection into me. Regardless of my internal panic this flicked a switch in my head. This was my last chance to bat his hand away, or shout 'stop!' or turn around and admonish him for this. But I wasn't going to. I didn't want to.
"Open. Your. Legs. Now."
I closed my eyes again and spread my legs a few inches apart, holding my breath against what he was going to do to me next. He started to stroke my thigh where he had pinched me, hand moving up further with each caress, until his fingers were grazing the bottom edge of my knickers. I knew I was wet, but I didn't want him to know how aroused I was so I shifted my pelvis forward with the hope that he would be satisfied with stroking my legs. Some hope. He used his body to push my hips hard into the wall of the carriage and it was all I could do not to cry out in surprise. I could feel his hard cock straining against my bottom and he began to kiss and bite my neck. I became suddenly aware of my arm, still dangling from my handle and I dropped it to my side, trying to relax my body into him.
"Good Girl", he whispered as he pushed a knee between my legs and wiggled it, pushing my legs further apart and I let my body drop further so he was supporting my weight. His hand persisted now between my thighs, and began to lightly stroke my pussy through the thin silk of my knickers; trying to detach myself, I opened my eyes to look back at the countryside speeding past the window and noted we were still 15 minutes from home. I couldn't distract myself from his fingers though, and could feel myself beginning to react to his touch. He paused again, for longer this time, and I felt a thin pinch of disappointment inside. Was he really going to stop? Maybe it's better he stops, I thought to myself, this is.. this is..
And then he put both hands up inside my dress and slowly began to roll my knickers down, from the waistband, past my hips, until they were halfway down my thighs. I began to wriggle again. He couldn't remove my pants in this carriage, could he? He returned one of his arms to propping me up against the wall and the other went straight between my thighs and began to stroke my pussy again, as gently as before but occasionally catching my clit with his finger. I wanted to cry out but I knew I had to be perfectly silent with so many people in such close proximity. I grabbed behind me, blindly seeking something to hold onto and found his shirt, which I began to tug on impatiently.
"Good" he whispered again, and began to concentrate his attention on my clit. I moved my hand down between my dress and the hard bulge at the front of his trousers and held on; "Oh, good girl, you are such a good girl", he whispered and began to rub more quickly. I could feel the pressure building up in the pit of my abdomen but I didn't know how to let go because I was sure I would fall. He teased and pinched, rubbed and stroked, and I was so close, so close but there was nothing to hold onto that would keep me upright and so I began to think I would not come. I began to push his hand away, feeling certain that this could not end well, and then his mouth in my ear:
"Come for me, you little slut", his hand fighting hard against mine now, "come on you dirty bitch, come on my hand"
And there it was. A gut wrenching, heart-stopping orgasm where despite myself, I feel my legs did probably give out from underneath me, such was the intensity. I suppose he must have stopped me falling on the floor. He held his hand between my legs, two fingers against my pussy while I rode down the aftershocks, my sweaty forehead resting against the now slippery wall.
As I dozily came back round from my stupor I noticed we were pulling into our station and I straightened myself up. Had anyone noticed? Maybe they had, but no-one was staring at me like I was a Whore of Babylon. I didn't care.
Paul got me into a taxi home once we got out of the station and nothing happened again between us. There were changes though. Files to be checked were returned with a smiley face on a post-it note rather than being wordlessly slopped on my desk, and a particularly fine job was rewarded with a 'Good Girl' and a bar of chocolate. Maybe he just worked out how to motivate me, in the end. I moved on to another job within the company within a couple of months and he gave me a glowing reference. But he would have given me a glowing reference anyway, right?
"Maybe we should go for a drink instead", I suggested with a grin,
He looked at his watch, and shook his head "It'll be here in a minute. Maybe we'll get some relief on the train"
The situation on the train itself was no better - people were spilling out of the carriage - there were no seats left. He pulled me into the corner of the standing area near to where a window had been pulled down a couple of inches and I ended up standing with my face against the wall, holding onto the overhead handle with one arm. We were crowded in from every other angle, with far too many people standing and no room to move. The train pulled slowly out of the station and I realised, with a feeling like lead weight in my stomach, there was no air-conditioning. There was no air-conditioning and our stop was 30 minutes away. I leaned with my cheek against the wall and tried to focus on the thin flow of air that was coming in through the window.I could feel Paul standing behind me as he also held on overhead, his body resting lightly against mine. The smell of his aftershave was impossible to avoid as his face could only have been inches away from mine and I breathed it in, I loved the way he smelt today. As the train rocked and swayed along the rails I became more conscious of his body moving against mine. I smiled to myself; things had to be bad if I was thinking that way about my pain in the ass boss. My objectively attractive but absolute pain in the ass of a boss.
The train suddenly jolted and about 30 bodies fell back against me,forcing me even tighter into the corner of the train. I could feel the contours of his body pressed hard against me now and his other hand went out to steady himself but as the train righted itself he did not move back; his hand remained against the wall and his body remained right against me. He had to be kidding, didn't he?
His weight shifted again as he took his hand down from the overhead bar, and I stiffened as he placed it on my hip. A move that would have felt totally natural and intimate had it been my boyfriend squeezed against my body like that, but felt alien and provocative under these circumstances. But, since I'm being honest, it didn't feel entirely unwelcome so I remained against the wall with my eyes shut, thinking maybe it would stop there, but how silly of me to think that would be the end of it. After a few minutes he moved his hand again, and he began to gently trace the outline of my bottom with his finger - a stroke so soft it was almost imperceptible but felt like it was burning a trail on my skin. My mind was racing at the implications of this. I knew it was wrong, I knew I had no real interest in this man, I knew that letting your boss touch you on public transport was a Bad Thing. I also knew that there was a real chance I was going to get to like it.
When his hand reached down to the hem of my dress, I took a sharp intake of breath. Maybe this was going too far. He paused, for maybe 10 seconds before he pushed his hand up behind the back of my skirt and I felt his hand land on the inside of my bare thigh.
"Open your legs" he bent his head and whispered in my ear but I was paralysed with indecision now, unable to move at all. I opened my eye and looked up at him and he was staring down at me like he had caught me doing something unprofessional in the workplace,
"Open your legs" he repeated, his whisper turning into a hiss. He pinched my thigh quite hard and turned his hips against my bottom and pressed his erection into me. Regardless of my internal panic this flicked a switch in my head. This was my last chance to bat his hand away, or shout 'stop!' or turn around and admonish him for this. But I wasn't going to. I didn't want to.
"Open. Your. Legs. Now."
I closed my eyes again and spread my legs a few inches apart, holding my breath against what he was going to do to me next. He started to stroke my thigh where he had pinched me, hand moving up further with each caress, until his fingers were grazing the bottom edge of my knickers. I knew I was wet, but I didn't want him to know how aroused I was so I shifted my pelvis forward with the hope that he would be satisfied with stroking my legs. Some hope. He used his body to push my hips hard into the wall of the carriage and it was all I could do not to cry out in surprise. I could feel his hard cock straining against my bottom and he began to kiss and bite my neck. I became suddenly aware of my arm, still dangling from my handle and I dropped it to my side, trying to relax my body into him.
"Good Girl", he whispered as he pushed a knee between my legs and wiggled it, pushing my legs further apart and I let my body drop further so he was supporting my weight. His hand persisted now between my thighs, and began to lightly stroke my pussy through the thin silk of my knickers; trying to detach myself, I opened my eyes to look back at the countryside speeding past the window and noted we were still 15 minutes from home. I couldn't distract myself from his fingers though, and could feel myself beginning to react to his touch. He paused again, for longer this time, and I felt a thin pinch of disappointment inside. Was he really going to stop? Maybe it's better he stops, I thought to myself, this is.. this is..
And then he put both hands up inside my dress and slowly began to roll my knickers down, from the waistband, past my hips, until they were halfway down my thighs. I began to wriggle again. He couldn't remove my pants in this carriage, could he? He returned one of his arms to propping me up against the wall and the other went straight between my thighs and began to stroke my pussy again, as gently as before but occasionally catching my clit with his finger. I wanted to cry out but I knew I had to be perfectly silent with so many people in such close proximity. I grabbed behind me, blindly seeking something to hold onto and found his shirt, which I began to tug on impatiently.
"Good" he whispered again, and began to concentrate his attention on my clit. I moved my hand down between my dress and the hard bulge at the front of his trousers and held on; "Oh, good girl, you are such a good girl", he whispered and began to rub more quickly. I could feel the pressure building up in the pit of my abdomen but I didn't know how to let go because I was sure I would fall. He teased and pinched, rubbed and stroked, and I was so close, so close but there was nothing to hold onto that would keep me upright and so I began to think I would not come. I began to push his hand away, feeling certain that this could not end well, and then his mouth in my ear:
"Come for me, you little slut", his hand fighting hard against mine now, "come on you dirty bitch, come on my hand"
And there it was. A gut wrenching, heart-stopping orgasm where despite myself, I feel my legs did probably give out from underneath me, such was the intensity. I suppose he must have stopped me falling on the floor. He held his hand between my legs, two fingers against my pussy while I rode down the aftershocks, my sweaty forehead resting against the now slippery wall.
As I dozily came back round from my stupor I noticed we were pulling into our station and I straightened myself up. Had anyone noticed? Maybe they had, but no-one was staring at me like I was a Whore of Babylon. I didn't care.
Paul got me into a taxi home once we got out of the station and nothing happened again between us. There were changes though. Files to be checked were returned with a smiley face on a post-it note rather than being wordlessly slopped on my desk, and a particularly fine job was rewarded with a 'Good Girl' and a bar of chocolate. Maybe he just worked out how to motivate me, in the end. I moved on to another job within the company within a couple of months and he gave me a glowing reference. But he would have given me a glowing reference anyway, right?
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
Idiot me
You may remember reader, that a while ago, I put a profile on a vanilla dating site. I decided that I would post a link to this blog on my profile so that without having to actually spell it out myself, potential respondents could have a look at what I was into before they contacted me . I know that what I'm into, while not exactly snuff movie territory is not exactly to everyone's taste - no matter what the 50 shades audience think. I suppose I did this because I was getting so many messages, that I didn't want to have to further filter for men who were looking for dominant women, or were just a bit tame and vanilla for my tastes or you know, just weren't going to get or appreciate me. Or couldn't read words made up of greater than 2 syllables - (there were plenty of those).
I suppose I thought it was ok to do it because I thought it was kind of a joke, that site. I was never really looking for anyone in a serious way - I was seeing a Dominant, sort of, and I thought it was just a nice distraction from exam revision and actually, who gave a shit what I wrote here? I certainly never thought I would meet a vanilla that I felt in anyway serious about - because I.. because I am submissive? And I thought I really needed someone who was able to take control of me outside of bed as well as inside of it.
In hindsight this was a horrendous idea. Why didn't I think for more than 30 seconds about this? Why didn't I see the future of... I date one guy who I've agreed not to write about (for various complicated reasons that, well, I can't write about), one guy who I want to write about all the time but feel reluctant to because he might freak out about just how much I love being with him (although, I think he must know) and a few non-starters that have never really gone anywhere but have the option of having a look into my head, or my virtual knicker drawer, whenever they like. I try not to think about any of them when I do write things, because you can't, can you, if you want to put anything other than the most surface level of stuff down? Except I do - I do it all the time, so I don't think I'm getting anywhere with this blog, I'm just stating the facile. And I can't think of any possible solution to this shitfuckcrap.fuckingfuckityfuck.
I even feel crap writing this because I've read a few blogs lately where the blog itself has been the subject and I think.. flipping hell, it's not that important.. its just a blog, no-one else that is reading these words cares how frequently you blog, or how many comments you get or whatever the problem is... And now I think, flipping hell Miss G, leave the 4th wall alone. But it doesn't solve the probem and apart from turning into an invite-only read blog, which would make me feel like a bit of a wanker, I'm not sure what to do. I am an idiot.
I suppose I thought it was ok to do it because I thought it was kind of a joke, that site. I was never really looking for anyone in a serious way - I was seeing a Dominant, sort of, and I thought it was just a nice distraction from exam revision and actually, who gave a shit what I wrote here? I certainly never thought I would meet a vanilla that I felt in anyway serious about - because I.. because I am submissive? And I thought I really needed someone who was able to take control of me outside of bed as well as inside of it.
In hindsight this was a horrendous idea. Why didn't I think for more than 30 seconds about this? Why didn't I see the future of... I date one guy who I've agreed not to write about (for various complicated reasons that, well, I can't write about), one guy who I want to write about all the time but feel reluctant to because he might freak out about just how much I love being with him (although, I think he must know) and a few non-starters that have never really gone anywhere but have the option of having a look into my head, or my virtual knicker drawer, whenever they like. I try not to think about any of them when I do write things, because you can't, can you, if you want to put anything other than the most surface level of stuff down? Except I do - I do it all the time, so I don't think I'm getting anywhere with this blog, I'm just stating the facile. And I can't think of any possible solution to this shitfuckcrap.fuckingfuckityfuck.
I even feel crap writing this because I've read a few blogs lately where the blog itself has been the subject and I think.. flipping hell, it's not that important.. its just a blog, no-one else that is reading these words cares how frequently you blog, or how many comments you get or whatever the problem is... And now I think, flipping hell Miss G, leave the 4th wall alone. But it doesn't solve the probem and apart from turning into an invite-only read blog, which would make me feel like a bit of a wanker, I'm not sure what to do. I am an idiot.
Monday, 13 August 2012
Profile of the week...
Do not contact me. Do you hear me? In fact, don't even read any further. This is not for you. This is just for friends, that I already have. I don't want any more friends, in fact, I'm just blogging here to make a dramatic statement about how I don't want anyone else to read my blog. And do not comment. Ever.
What? You don't think that makes any sense?! Oh well, I'm just following the example of this guy who has a live profile on the kinky dating site apparently actively seeking submissive females. Sorry girls, looks like he's off kink for good. But on the upside he does wish you a good day.
I am now
down with the lifestyle for good I remain on <kinky dating site> only to speak with those
friends I have made do not contact me as I am NOT interested any more.
Thank you
and have a good day everyone.
No, no. You have a good day.You know, you could just hide your profile?
As an aside by the way, check out my updated blogroll!
As an aside by the way, check out my updated blogroll!
Thursday, 9 August 2012
You can talk to me...
So I have a friend, who I am very fond of. Despite everything.
She has lots of really amazing qualities that I love and that I am not always in great supply of: she is patient, open and friendly to new people and situations, optimistic and creative. I love spending time with her for these reasons. She also has a car crash mother, so we have a lot to talk about.
But. She is nosey, and a touch judgemental (she disapproved to me, quite strongly about her sister, who meets men from the internet in the interest of having purely sexual relationships. Imagine that.) and a bit of a gossip. I know things about mutual friends and acquaintances that I just should not know because of her free way with information. And so for reasons that I am sure you quite understand, reader, I am reluctant to share too much with her. She knows that I don't have sex with my partner, but that's all really.
We usually swap a bit of daytime babysitting once a week, and this Wednesday it was my chance to escape into adultland for a few hours. I dropped my son off and sat down for the obligatory cup of tea. I had a date that afternoon, so I was reluctant to hang around too long, but she really wanted to chat. About what I was doing that afternoon, and why, why had I escaped the mummy uniform of jeans and a top.. and wow.. you really look nice when you do your eye makeup like that.
So here's what I wanted to say:
I'm going to go to a nice hotel in town now, where I will meet a lover in the bar. He lives a couple of hundred miles away and doesn't get here very often, so you can understand I am quite eager to see him. We will have a drink and then we will go in the lift to a room.If it is anything like last time, when we are in the lift he will probably stand behind me and put his hand up my skirt, to check that I have been obedient in not wearing knickers, and if we have more than one floor to travel, his fingers might find my pussy. He will be pleased, because I am an obedient girl. If it is anything like last time, We will go into the room and immediately the door is closed he will push me down onto my knees and fuck my mouth until I dribble and cry and he has forced the air out of my lungs. My remaining clothes will be removed and he will spend the next hour or so alternating between slapping me hard in varying places and pushing me to almost-orgasm with his fingers and mouth but not quite allowing me to get there. He will say some horrible things to me whilst doing this, he will call me a slut and a whore and tell me all the nasty things he wants to do to me. Just when I feel like I will explode, he will push my legs apart and fuck me. If I am lucky he will kneel between my legs and rub my clit as he fucks me so I can quickly come over his nice big cock. Then he will make me kneel in front of him and he will fuck me from behind whilst holding my hips and giving my arse the odd slap. I might come again. He will take a wet finger, and slowly but firmly bury it in my arse, whispering now about fucking me there. This will make me growl and pant with arousal, and his thrusts will get faster and deeper until he comes inside of me. After this we will hold eachother, and talk and nap until I have to go.
Or you know, we might do something different.
But I said: Oh, I'm just meeting a friend for a drink in town.
And she said, looking me in the eye in a searching way: You can tell me anything you know, you can talk to me.
Right, Uh huh.
No.
She has lots of really amazing qualities that I love and that I am not always in great supply of: she is patient, open and friendly to new people and situations, optimistic and creative. I love spending time with her for these reasons. She also has a car crash mother, so we have a lot to talk about.
But. She is nosey, and a touch judgemental (she disapproved to me, quite strongly about her sister, who meets men from the internet in the interest of having purely sexual relationships. Imagine that.) and a bit of a gossip. I know things about mutual friends and acquaintances that I just should not know because of her free way with information. And so for reasons that I am sure you quite understand, reader, I am reluctant to share too much with her. She knows that I don't have sex with my partner, but that's all really.
We usually swap a bit of daytime babysitting once a week, and this Wednesday it was my chance to escape into adultland for a few hours. I dropped my son off and sat down for the obligatory cup of tea. I had a date that afternoon, so I was reluctant to hang around too long, but she really wanted to chat. About what I was doing that afternoon, and why, why had I escaped the mummy uniform of jeans and a top.. and wow.. you really look nice when you do your eye makeup like that.
So here's what I wanted to say:
I'm going to go to a nice hotel in town now, where I will meet a lover in the bar. He lives a couple of hundred miles away and doesn't get here very often, so you can understand I am quite eager to see him. We will have a drink and then we will go in the lift to a room.If it is anything like last time, when we are in the lift he will probably stand behind me and put his hand up my skirt, to check that I have been obedient in not wearing knickers, and if we have more than one floor to travel, his fingers might find my pussy. He will be pleased, because I am an obedient girl. If it is anything like last time, We will go into the room and immediately the door is closed he will push me down onto my knees and fuck my mouth until I dribble and cry and he has forced the air out of my lungs. My remaining clothes will be removed and he will spend the next hour or so alternating between slapping me hard in varying places and pushing me to almost-orgasm with his fingers and mouth but not quite allowing me to get there. He will say some horrible things to me whilst doing this, he will call me a slut and a whore and tell me all the nasty things he wants to do to me. Just when I feel like I will explode, he will push my legs apart and fuck me. If I am lucky he will kneel between my legs and rub my clit as he fucks me so I can quickly come over his nice big cock. Then he will make me kneel in front of him and he will fuck me from behind whilst holding my hips and giving my arse the odd slap. I might come again. He will take a wet finger, and slowly but firmly bury it in my arse, whispering now about fucking me there. This will make me growl and pant with arousal, and his thrusts will get faster and deeper until he comes inside of me. After this we will hold eachother, and talk and nap until I have to go.Or you know, we might do something different.
But I said: Oh, I'm just meeting a friend for a drink in town.
And she said, looking me in the eye in a searching way: You can tell me anything you know, you can talk to me.
Right, Uh huh.
No.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
No fucking no sleep no fucking sleep
I have insomnia and I am totally going to fail at life if this carries on. Although, sitting up watching The Office on netflix at 2.30am has it's charms, it doesn't feel so good at 8am dealing with breakfasts and children's TV shows. It feels bad. And it feels bad until about 4pm when I get my second wind and I'm good for another 12 hours. Fucking horrible.
I don't know what it is really, I just feel a little bit... blocked.
Living and sharing a bed with someone when you do not have sex with them is not the end of the world, by any means. When you've been with someone for 12 years, had a kid together, vote the same way and still laugh at the same stuff - for me anyway, it is a perfectly tolerable situation. I mean, Mr G is very comfortable to be around and I don't feel any negativity towards this someone that I've grown into happy sibling-like companionship with. I know from the interwebs that lots of people don't feel that way about their relationships - feel like a marriage with no sex is no marriage at all - and I have a degree of empathy with this point of view. Now, Mr G and I are not married and never will be, but I have never thought that it is my duty within a relationship (or his, for that matter) to provide sex. Human relationships are made up of all kinds of things, after all.
But where it is hard, really bloody difficult actually, is when you think to yourself... Goddamn, I could really do with a nice hard spanking and some sex and then I would sleep - I know I would sleep... And you can think of two or three potential candidates. But you are not in their bed. You are in bed with a man who thinks that spanking and BDSM are a bit sick and unhealthy to be honest, a man who probably would have sex if you wanted to have sex with a friend that was gentle and fairly unmoving, and therefore, you will be having neither sex nor spanking and probably no sleep till the sun starts peeking over the horizon and the birds start singing their tuneful song about being awake in 4 hours time to make breakfast.
Oh well. This too shall pass.
I don't know what it is really, I just feel a little bit... blocked.
Living and sharing a bed with someone when you do not have sex with them is not the end of the world, by any means. When you've been with someone for 12 years, had a kid together, vote the same way and still laugh at the same stuff - for me anyway, it is a perfectly tolerable situation. I mean, Mr G is very comfortable to be around and I don't feel any negativity towards this someone that I've grown into happy sibling-like companionship with. I know from the interwebs that lots of people don't feel that way about their relationships - feel like a marriage with no sex is no marriage at all - and I have a degree of empathy with this point of view. Now, Mr G and I are not married and never will be, but I have never thought that it is my duty within a relationship (or his, for that matter) to provide sex. Human relationships are made up of all kinds of things, after all.
But where it is hard, really bloody difficult actually, is when you think to yourself... Goddamn, I could really do with a nice hard spanking and some sex and then I would sleep - I know I would sleep... And you can think of two or three potential candidates. But you are not in their bed. You are in bed with a man who thinks that spanking and BDSM are a bit sick and unhealthy to be honest, a man who probably would have sex if you wanted to have sex with a friend that was gentle and fairly unmoving, and therefore, you will be having neither sex nor spanking and probably no sleep till the sun starts peeking over the horizon and the birds start singing their tuneful song about being awake in 4 hours time to make breakfast.
Oh well. This too shall pass.
Monday, 6 August 2012
Monday Monday
Yes, I know that imagine-communicating with my mother through this blog is an exercise in perfect futility. I would never give her the address of this blog (oh, my.. just imagine that), wouldn't dream of it even if it were my vanilla childcare, crochet and cupcakes blog.. but I was so angry that day.
Am still so angry, actually, and since I am not willing to engage in her bizarre Jerry Springer stylee behaviour to let her know (she must know - she did something so very bad (on my motherfucking birthday by the way), even someone with her shallow ability of feeling and narrow capacity for thought would know), it kind of leaks out everywhere. I've tried therapy, folks. I can assure, blogging is cheaper. But this isn't really the place to deal with my Hammer Horror parent stories, so...
Otherwise, not much to tell around here. A happy grownup weekend away with some friends and some almost-sex but ultimately a little bit too much birthday booze and weed to get past '..oh that feels good, hey, I might just have a little snooze now' . Just goes to show that it catches up with you when you turn into an old lady like me. Gonn' need to make up for it somewhere soon.
Am still so angry, actually, and since I am not willing to engage in her bizarre Jerry Springer stylee behaviour to let her know (she must know - she did something so very bad (on my motherfucking birthday by the way), even someone with her shallow ability of feeling and narrow capacity for thought would know), it kind of leaks out everywhere. I've tried therapy, folks. I can assure, blogging is cheaper. But this isn't really the place to deal with my Hammer Horror parent stories, so...
Otherwise, not much to tell around here. A happy grownup weekend away with some friends and some almost-sex but ultimately a little bit too much birthday booze and weed to get past '..oh that feels good, hey, I might just have a little snooze now' . Just goes to show that it catches up with you when you turn into an old lady like me. Gonn' need to make up for it somewhere soon.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
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